Full Moon Over Salzburg...and the crazies were out!

The four hour Eurail to Salzburg was beautiful, but upon arrival I understood why Mozart was crazy. We shared our train cabin with a 20-something guy from Australia who had been traveling Europe for months and looked exhausted and travel-worn (i.e.--he needed a good sleep and a shower). The views from the train were gorgeous, even though it rained most of the ride to Salzburg. Once we got there, the weather had cleared up and we discovered that Salzburg, like the U2 song, was where "the streets have no names." Seriously, not one street was labeled until we got closer to our lodging. We wandered and finally found the Institut St. Sebastian, an old church with female dorms, where we planned to stay for the two nights. Upon arrival, the receptionist had left the maids in charge of handing out room keys. They asked to see our passports and gave us our sheets and a towel and upon our asking about payment, they giggled "gratis." We put our things away to discover one of the younger professors at the Mozart Universität was staying in the room with us...apparently she takes the train in from Berlin to teach piano once a week at the university. We dumped our stuff and hit a small cafe called Cappucino next to the Institut to get our bearings. We headed off into the evening only to discover that a) Salzburg is a very small city and b) there isn't much going on outside of the cobblestone streets near the Salzach River. We found a place with döner kepab, had dinner, and courtesy of Rick Steves (our travel guide for a good portion of the trip) we got lost again and then with the help of a few native Salzburgians and my ever-improving German, we found our way to the Augustiner Bräustübl, a bierhaus where monks brew the beer in the basement of the monastery. Sound too good to be true? No way. This place was like you died and went to beer heaven. If you've ever been to a German bierhaus, or even a psuedo bierhaus such as the Hofbrauhaus in Newport, KY, you know that the inside with the long picnic tables and mugs afloat is a pretty huge space. Well imagine climbing atop a small mountain at night to find a monastery built into the mountain, climbing down several flights of stairs to discover that this place is at least four times the size! Freaking gigantic. And the beer is a ritual. You must get a stein, wash it from a spicket, take it to a serious-looking Austrian woman and buy your beer ticket, and then take your ticket to the beer-pourer and try not to slide your way out of the room with the sudsy, beer-drenched floor. When you successfully find an empty table (which was difficult the night we were there) proust away! However, drinking amazing homemade beer, with the love of Christ stirred into the hops, wasn't enough fun for us. We apparently intruded in on a tänzverein meeting--complete with the inaugeration of the new dance group's president. There were high school age girls dancing, ballroom dancers swinging to "La Bamba," and everyone wearing Drindls and Trachts...complete with silly-looking shriner-esque hats with sequins and/or feathers. Enjoying the complete cultural experience, we raised our glasses "Proust!" We ended up taking an hour long bus ride back to the Institut as the bus took us in a giant loop in the wrong direction.

The next day, I awoke unable to breathe and feverish, probably due to the cold draft coming in from the Institut's old window directly above my head. I had plans to climb the Alps, go to the Mozart museums, among other things, but I felt like shit and it was pouirng down torrential rain. I slept in and took a shower, encountering a strange woman from Tyrol had moved into the room next door to us and was confused about her key. I tried to explain to her in my shoddy German that she needed four keys instead of the three she had, but we were both lost in translation and she had no desire to let me loose from the conversation...I got to listen to her close to a half hour before she let me get ready to see the Mozart museum. She looked like a crazy person. Hair leaping off her head in every direction, wearing Christmas colored plaid pajama pants and a silk flowered shirt. She talked faster than a native New Yorker with an accent thick from the back hills of Austria. I eventually backed away and got ready to leave. Feeling a little better, I trudged through the museum and took a ton of bootleg photos for my students and bought some postcards from the gift shop. The rain got even more torrential, so I decided to pick up an umbrella, although to my chagrin, every single umbrella in Salzburg has a picture of Mozart on it. I finally found a boutique with various umbrellas, all of which appeared to be solid in color. So I grabbed a black one that was cheap and hit the road. When I opened it in the street, I discovered I was duped...the plain black umbrella I purchased blossomed into a bust of Mozart. Oy vey! I met up with Regina where we found a weird little restaurant with Rick Steves's photo in the window. We decided to dine there in homage to Rick who guided us toward great alcoholic beverage on the trip (the heuringer and Bräustübl). I had a delicious Hungarian goulash with a giant semmelknödel (wheat dumpling) which was seriously the size of a softball. Amazing. Regina a plate full of wurst. We then went to a hokey Cafe Mozart with snobbish waiters and ordered dessert. Reg got the apple streudel and I ordered the Mozarttorte, which is similar to the Mozartkugeln sold throughout Salzburg. The chocolates are made of almond paste, marzipan, and pistachio and covered in chocolate...and the torte was similar, although it had green frosting. Freaking fantastic! We then wandered the cobblestone streets before heading back to the Institut.

I decided to stay in and get some more rest so I would be healthy and ready for the conference in Graz, but Regina wanted to go to a smoky jazz bar. I was about to head to bed when I heard some banging on the outside door to our room and having just seen the crazy Tyrolean woman, I assumed it was her and did not want her coming in and yapping my ear off for another hour. The knocking got louder and soon was coming from the crazy woman's room. I was seriously confused and I got up to see what all the commotion was only to discover CTW (Crazy Tyrolean Woman) had stuck her key in the inside of the door, locking Regina out. Reg was pissed and CTW began apologizing profusely in her undeterminable dialect. Salzburg had officially lost its charm. Perhaps it is more picturesque in the summer when the hills are more alive and are not dangerous mudslides. We got our free hard roll and tea from the Institut and were off to catch our train in the morning before CTW appeared and held up our plans. She felt so bad, she fashioned a nesting box made of Salzburg travel guides to give Regina, and I received a phallic looking flourescent green magnetic pen. Score! She gave us her address and insisted that if we ever ventured into Tyrol that we could stay with her...aww. Upon our leaving, the Institut only charged us for one night instead of the two. Actually, the one night charge didn't even appear on my credit card until the following week...the mysterious Institut St. Sebastian. I opened my Mozart umbrella and walked toward the train station, anticipating Graz and the new adventures I'd experience there.

Salzburg pics are here. The weather did not cooperate in the taking of lovely photos.